Dropping the phone into her lap, she inhales a shaky breath. "Are you okay?" I murmur. When she shakes her head, I squeeze her hand just for a second. "We're here," I say. "If you need anything."
"My mom's sick," she says, then shakes her head. "She's sick because she started taking drugs again." Her throat moves as she tries to swallow down her emotion. "She promised me she wouldn't go back."
I nod, holding her pretty green eyes with my own. "We can all make promises. Sometimes we keep to them, and sometimes we don't. But always, we disappoint ourselves the most."
"She doesn't care," Luna says. "She never has."
I shrug gently. "We aren't all strong. Some of us have weakness and emptiness inside that we try to hide or fill with other things. Pray for her…if not to God, then to the universe. Ask for her to be filled with light and positivity. It's all you can do, sweetheart because we can't fix what is broken without help."
Luna nods, reaching out to touch my thumb with her free hand. "Thanks," she says. "I'll be okay."
Smiling, I squeeze her hand again, moving to stand so that the hairdresser can get on with his job. But even as I flop onto the sofa in the corner, I can't forget the feel of her skin against mine or the pain in her eyes.
Asher has taken a step over the line, but he's not the only one who wants to hold this girl close and fill her life with happiness. There's a long line of men behind him.
13
LUNA
All the way through my performance, my mind is whirring. My mom is in hospital. Again. I trusted my brother to look out for her, and he's allowed the very thing I didn't want to happen. He's allowed her to go back to her old ways. He's let her hurt herself, and, in the process, he's hurt me. I paste on a smile as I belt out a trivial song about a cheating ex who isn't even real, dancing so fast that my heart feels like it's going to beat out of my chest. I'm aching between my legs too—a memory of another mistake that has bruised my emotions.
Mistake.
That's not the right word for what happened with Asher.
Passionate fits better.
Overwhelming. Deep. Greedy. Desperate. All those words fit better than mistake.
Between Asher and me, there was no error. We both did what we wanted, taking from each other what we needed. It's outside of Asher and me that we've done something forbidden – broken some part of the bodyguard code of conduct. Maybe I could be accused of abusing my position of power too. Even though I should regret it, I can't.
When Asher was inside me, I felt complete. His hands told me everything that his drawing represented was true. His words whispered in my ear settled a restless part of me. Everything about it was perfect, except being discovered.
At the end of the song, the crowd roars, hands clapping and waving above their heads.
There is a sea of phones fixed on me, recording the person they think I am. Luna Evans, pop star diva. They don't capture the churning in my belly or the brittleness I feel. Behind the booty shorts and torn pantyhose, I'm just someone's daughter. I’m a woman barely out of girlhood who half the time feels like I can crush the world in my palm, and the other half is afraid to make a decision about what to eat without assistance.
"This next song isn't on my album," I say, as my mind catches up to my mouth. What the hell am I doing, deviating from the plan? Behind me, I can practically hear the band's thoughts. What the fuck? We haven't rehearsed anything that isn't on the album. But suddenly, all I can think about is singing the little song I wrote in when my brother Jake died. The one that poured out of me, tasting of blood and familial love that was lost.
I don't need the band for this. I don't need the dancers. All I need is my voice. At the side of the stage, Ben and Elijah are standing guard. Ben has a stool to take the weight off his leg when he needs to, and I want that stool. I jog to toward him, and he stands ready to do whatever I need of him. That's what they're like, my bodyguards. Ready to lay their lives on the line for me. Ready to service my every whim. I shouldn't enjoy that fact as much as I do, or resent the limitations to their relationship with me.
"Are you okay?"
"I need the stool," I mouth, and smile as he hands it to me. "I need to talk to you later," he says, forgetting that my mic is on and the whole stadium can hear.